


Tradition

by dizzzylu



Series: Mating Games Submissions [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's a rite of passage, Danny. Having sex in your childhood bed when you're home for the holidays. We'd be going against the laws of god and nature if we let this moment pass us by.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tradition

**Author's Note:**

> Week four's challenge was to write about about the bonds of an established relationship. And by "bonds" it could be anything from familial to pack to good ol' bondage.

It's a cold draft that wakes Danny up, his arms and legs pebbling with goosebumps. He tries to blink his eyes open but the holiday turkey and the egg nog work against him. Not that it matters, he knows the weight and the shape of the body behind him. The breadth of the palm smoothing its way up Danny's back, underneath his t-shirt.

"Daaanny," Stiles sing-songs into Danny's ear, quiet and sandy with sleep. 

Danny nuzzles into his pillow, eyes squeezed tight, and says, "Separate bedrooms, Stiles. I distinctly remember your dad's orders: sleeping in separate bedrooms."

"And we are!" Stiles squeaks in a hoarse whisper. "Technically, you were sleeping while I was in another room. Now, we're not. Sleeping." 

Danny can't stop his chuckle, and he rolls over to be met by Stiles' knowing grin. He's wearing Danny's old lacrosse t-shirt, the one that's worn thin from washing and hangs loose on Stiles' narrower shoulders, exposing his collar bone, a glimpse of chest hair. Danny pushes closer and tucks his face into Stiles' neck, biting a kiss there just to be contrary.

"Your dad is the sheriff, Stiles. He has guns," Danny protests. His mouth betrays him, though, nipping at Stiles' collar bone, his neck, underneath Stiles' chin. Any soft place he can find.

Stiles lets out a shuddery breath and his legs tangle with Danny's, long and slim, bony ankles that make Danny wince when they bump into his own. He whines, "It's a rite of passage, Danny. Having sex in your childhood bed when you're home for the holidays. We'd be going against the laws of god and nature if we let this moment pass us by." 

He squirms out of his shirt, then, and attempts to do the same to Danny; Danny lets him. It's been a long few weeks of prepping for finals and _taking_ their finals and wrapping things up for the end of the semester. He's missed even the simple things like lying on the couch in nothing but their pants, trading wet, lazy kisses, palming miles of smooth skin. Danny presses his fingers to the constellation of moles low on Stiles' back, the one he's always playing connect-the-dots with, with whatever color Sharpie is within his reach. Stiles moans and Danny swallows it up with a kiss.

Stiles is hard in his pajamas, rubbing against Danny's thigh in little jerks of his hips. Danny's hard, too, and the friction feels good, blunted by the cotton, but quiet, sweet. It's almost like they're teenagers again, fumbling through sex for the first time.

"Wait, wait," Stiles gasps, stopping Danny with a hand to his chest. He rests his forehead on Danny's shoulder, lungs working for air, then says, "We're not teenagers. Pants off." and starts pushing at Danny's pajamas and his own in turns. Stiles isn't satisfied until they're down around their knees, and he goes back to kissing Danny, scooting closer to get a hand around their cocks. 

His grip is firm and sure, warm where it snugs under the crown. They're both a little wet, and Danny thinks he can feel the throb of Stiles' pulse, or maybe it's his own. Not that it matters. 

Stiles tilts his head back to kiss Danny, his eyes wide and dark, his cheeks hot to the touch. He can't seem to find a rhythm, and Danny realizes it's because he's using his left hand, after the way he got into bed. 

Danny's fingers slot neatly with Stiles' and they find their pace together, hips twitching into their combined grip, soft little moans getting lost in each others' mouths. Danny wants to get his free hand in Stiles' hair, to tug on it and stretch his neck out, but it's pinned by Stiles' body, so he digs nails into Stiles' shoulder instead, teeth scraping over Stiles' chin.

The bed they're in is smaller than what they're used to, a twin with an old lumpy comforter, but it's cozy with the neighbors' decorations still on outside, twinkling red-blue-green-white. It feels right in a way it probably shouldn't, Stiles coming on a quiet stuttery sigh, Danny following right behind him.

It's quiet, after, only the wet sounds of their messy kisses ruining the silence. Stiles has to stop every so often to giggle and Danny chastises him with a careful bite to his neck or chest. Once, to his nipple. Stiles eventually calms down enough to fish their pajamas out from between the sheets, using them to clean up the mess of come on their stomachs, then tosses them to the floor to join their shirts. It feels like Stiles is settling in, snuggling into the mattress on a contented sigh, his smile soft and sweet. And it's not that Danny minds, but there's the whole thing about separate bedrooms. And though Danny isn't afraid of the sheriff, he doesn't like disrespecting peoples' wishes either.

Stiles grumbles at the elbow to his side. "Relax," he hisses, glomming onto Danny with about eight too many limbs. "I'll wake up before he does. I've got it down to a science." He presses a hot kiss to Danny's ribs and continues, "I'm sure dad expected us to do this, anyway. God and nature, Danny. God and nature."

Danny is skeptical, still, but the warmth is comforting and it feels like he's only been half awake the whole time anyway, so it doesn't take much to convince himself to trust Stiles and fall asleep. Even if Stiles is right only about sixty percent of the time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [dizzzylu]() on tumblr.


End file.
